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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058251">La Petite Mort</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover'>sconelover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And Simon is not because intimacy issues, And not everyone is a porn star, And so much fanfic has everyone moaning like porn stars!, And we're gonna unpack that folks, Anyway this is my first smut, Awkward first time sex, Baz is quite loud in the bedroom, Blow Jobs, Cuddles, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Here I am to fix that, In Between CO and WS Probably, Light Angst, Listen sex is awkward, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-WS, Realistic First Time Things, Seriously There is Communication, Sex noises, Smut, So if that gets you hot and bothered come on over, Sort Of, Yes this fic is about sex sounds, communication porn, question mark?, relatable, so much communication</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:54:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>...or, La Petite Mortification.</p><p>***</p><p>“You mean like… moaning, or…”<br/>“Anything,” he says. “Moans, words, whatever. Do what feels natural.”<br/>“It <em>doesn’t,”</em> I say, frustrated. </p><p>A look into the awkwardness and vulnerability of sex noises and first times. Set in between Carry On and Wayward Son. Smut with lots of feelings and communication.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>372</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>La Petite Mort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>When I had this idea, transposed largely from what I think is a somewhat relatable experience, I didn't expect to be able to write it. Or publish it. I've never written smut before and it's scary to put this out here. But I couldn't get it out of my head—the more smut I read, the more I noticed that sex noises seemed to come naturally to the characters, when in reality they don't for everyone, especially in first-time experiences.</p><p>Big thanks to the Carry On discord for supporting this idea and inspiring me to finish and post this.</p><p>Tumblr post is <a>here</a> if you’d like to share. </p><p>Thank you SO much to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff">the_honeyed_hufflepuff</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker/works?page=1">pipsqueakparker</a> for beta reading! And thanks to Pip for the title! I appreciate you both so much ❤️❤️❤️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>Baz is coming over for the weekend, and it’s the first time we have the flat to ourselves—Penny has kindly decided to vacate the premises for a couple days. I think it’s because I actually went out yesterday, to get a haircut and some hot chocolate mix. And then this morning she caught me shaving more carefully than usual and promptly said, “I’m going to visit home for a couple days.”</p><p>I made eye contact with her in the mirror. “Baz is coming over,” I said.</p><p>“Right,” she said slowly, as if trying to make me understand something. “So. I’m leaving.”</p><p>And then I did understand, and my stomach dropped. “You don’t have to. We’re not– I mean, I wasn’t planning on… that.”</p><p>“Well, now you can,” she said simply. When I just stared at her, still holding my razor halfway down my cheek, she sighed. “Drop the act, Simon. You have a hot vampire boyfriend. I know you want to jump his bones. Now you can do it, but loudly. Who am I to keep you?”</p><p>“Penny, I– what– no,” I sputtered, my tail lashing around my left leg. Except she was a little bit right; Baz had been over a couple times, and it just felt weird trying to do anything with Penny sleeping in the next room over. And probably not even sleeping besides.</p><p>She laughed. “Even if not, I just thought you’d both appreciate some privacy. And besides, I actually should go visit my family.”</p><p>“Um, okay,” I said. “Thanks.”</p><p>And then she left, and I’ve been cleaning my room since then. I even changed my sheets; I don’t remember the last time I did that. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>I like to think that Simon, before—well, before everything—would have had few inhibitions when it came to the bedroom. I know that sounds ridiculous, but after all, he kissed me first without even knowing if I wanted to be kissed, or if I was gay, or if <em> he </em> wanted to kiss me. He just rushed in. And later that night, he leaned into my touch and growled low in his throat. I have a hunch that if we hadn’t been in my parents’ house, he would have been a lot louder than that. Simon wasn’t shy. </p><p>But I never got to find out. All of that has changed now.</p><p>We’ve been bickering all afternoon since I got here, but in a soft way, and we watched a movie and he made me hot chocolate and he seems <em> okay, </em>which is a shock. I know there are good days and bad days. I let myself feel lucky that it’s a good day.</p><p>When the credits roll, Simon shifts, one wing wrapping around my back, and pulls me to him by the back of my neck. I lean in willingly as our lips crash together, and let out a small, unsolicited moan. (It’s been far too long.)</p><p>He starts pushing me back against the couch, and I can tell his wings are getting uncomfortable. I sit up, pulling back. “Do you want to go to bed?”</p><p>“I’m not tired,” he says.</p><p>“Not like that.”</p><p>His eyes grow wide. “Oh. Then… yeah. Okay.”</p><p>I grin and turn off the TV, then take his hand and pull him up so that we’re both standing. We sneak in a few dozen kisses as we quickly clean up the living room area and head to his room.</p><p>I’m a bit stunned to see that it’s clean and the bed’s made. And then I get this funny tingling feeling at the idea that he did all that for <em> me. </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>Penny was right, I do appreciate the privacy. Especially the part where I get to kiss Baz all around the flat and no one threatens to spell us apart.</p><p>I close my door even though no one’s home, then walk Baz toward the bed. He arranges himself on his side in a “paint me like one of your French girls” pose. I laugh and nearly tackle him.</p><p>The thing is, we haven’t done much except kissing. It’s not that I don’t want to, we just haven’t had the chance. I suppose I shouldn’t be too stressed about it. After all, he’s no more experienced than I am… but he makes everything seem so easy.</p><p>It used to be easy for me, too. Touching him, guessing at what would make him feel good, knowing what made me feel good—it was like breathing. But since everything happened, I’ve had this hollow spot in my chest, and I don’t know if I <em> can </em> feel that good anymore. Or if I should.</p><p>I lay next to Baz on my side, just kissing. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of <em> this </em> feeling: his lips sliding against mine, his tongue darting out to graze my lower lip, the perfect way we interlock. I bring my hand up to his hair—he liked that before, I think—and give it a tug.</p><p>It’s like I flicked a switch. Baz <em> moans </em> and suddenly surges forward, wrapping a leg around my thighs. He presses our bodies together, his lips crashing roughly against mine. His hands come up to tangle in my own curls, and when he pulls on them, groaning low in his throat, I feel heat sear through my stomach and my chest. </p><p><em> Fuck, </em>this feels good.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>I’m thoroughly enjoying myself and making it known—Bunce isn’t home, so there’s really no need to hold anything in—but Simon is not being helpful here. Not that he isn’t responsive; his breathing is quick, and he’s pushing against me just as much as I’m pushing against him. But I’m just not sure. He’s so, so silent. </p><p>He moves one hand to my shirt, toying with the buttons, and slips his fingers through in the way he knows I love. I make a little moan-sigh sound, leaning into his touch, and bring one hand down from his hair to play with the hem of his shirt. His breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything.</p><p>I guide his hand down my buttons. “You can take it off, if you want,” I say with a small smirk. “Better view.”</p><p>His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it looks so sexy that I can’t resist leaning forward for another quick kiss. He stares at my buttons, looking determined. “Okay,” he says.</p><p>I put my hands in his hair again, because I’m insatiable when it comes to those <em> curls, </em>and he’s just gotten a haircut and I’m shameless. He presses kisses up my neck, making me tingle with desire as he undoes my buttons torturously slowly. I moan into his mouth as he reaches the last one and plays softly with the trail of hair below my belly button.</p><p>Without breaking the kiss, I pull the sleeves off my arms and toss the shirt behind me. Simon pulls back and stares for a moment, blushing furiously, and I suppress a smug grin. “Like what you see?”</p><p>He nods. “Bloody football,” he mutters, running a hand over my abdomen. I laugh, but it turns into a gasp as he leans forward to kiss me again, then hesitantly brings his fingers up to circle my nipple. Something between a moan and a squeak escapes me.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>I like coaxing these sounds out of Baz. For some reason I’d expected he’d be too proud to make noises, to make this display of raw arousal. But I suppose the pride works the opposite way; he has a sort of confidence that makes me envious. Like, <em> Look at me, world. Fuck yeah I’m kissing my terrible boyfriend. And I’m liking it. </em> It makes him even hotter, in my eyes. And every time he moans or gasps I feel proud of myself—that <em> I </em>did this to him.</p><p>Baz reaches for the hem of my shirt, hesitant. He trails his fingers up my side. “Is this okay?”</p><p>He’s touching me feather-light, and I almost want to say <em> get on with it already. </em> Instead I just say, “Yeah.”</p><p>I kiss him again, and as his hands brush over my chest under my shirt, he groans into my mouth, which is just about the sexiest thing ever. It makes me feel better, more ready, so I pull back and nearly rip off my shirt in one motion. </p><p>Baz bites his lip, his eyes big. “You’re gorgeous, Simon.”</p><p>A shy, nervous laugh escapes me as he grins, then moves forward to attack my neck with his mouth. He presses kisses down my neck and moves his body down the bed. His hands slide over my arms as he mouths along my collarbone. I’m not sure what to do, so I just wind my fingers in his hair again. (I’ll never get enough of his hair. It’s always so silky because of his posh conditioner.)</p><p>I watch him move lower and suppress a shudder as I feel his warm breath on my nipple. </p><p>His tongue darts out to circle it, and my eyes flutter closed in pleasure. His other hand feels its way down my stomach. Suddenly, he pulls away and looks up at me. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” he says.</p><p>I blink a few times. <em> Good, obviously. </em> “What do you mean?”</p><p>His hands still. “I mean that I don’t know… whether this feels okay for you or not.”</p><p>I’m bewildered. “What do you mean? Of <em> course </em> it does.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says, but his eyes are dark and concerned. “I wasn’t sure.”</p><p>I thought I was pretty clear about how much I was enjoying this, but now I’m just confused that he couldn’t tell. “Why?”</p><p>He blows out a breath, clearly choosing his words carefully. “You’re just… quiet,” he finally says.</p><p><em> Oh. </em> I didn’t think about that. I just did what felt right to me. Baz tinges pink, which is the opposite of what I want—I don’t want him to feel embarrassed about the noises <em> he </em> makes. </p><p>“Oh,” I say. “I don’t really… I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No!” he says. “Don’t be sorry, I just–” He clears his throat. “It would be nice to have some encouragement. That I’m doing the right thing.”</p><p>“You are.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says, somewhat impatiently, “but I can’t read your mind, Simon. I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with–”</p><p>“I’d tell you, if I was.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says again, sighing. “Just try to let me know when it’s the opposite, too.”</p><p>“You mean like… moaning, or…”</p><p>“Anything,” he says. “Moans, words, whatever. Do what feels natural.” </p><p>“It <em> doesn’t,” </em>I say, frustrated. </p><p>In movies, no one ever has problems like this. They’re just, like, sexually liberated or whatever, loud as can be, and someone hears them and it’s a funny plot point. The issues arise when they have to keep quiet. No one’s ever <em> silent… </em> they don’t seem to feel awkward about this like I do.</p><p>Even Baz seems to have no issue, and this is the first time he’s done any of this stuff, too.</p><p>And it makes <em> me </em> feel good, when he makes the sounds. It lets me know I’m doing something right, so I’m sure he’d want to feel the same. But I just feel so awkward about it. I imagine in my head, saying something out loud— <em> yes, more </em> or <em> that feels good </em> or <em> don’t stop— </em>and it just feels stupid. Exposed.</p><p>He props himself on one elbow, and he looks like a fucking supermodel. I could stare at the rise and fall of his chest all day, and the way his bicep curls beneath him. “Let’s continue where we left off, then,” he says, “and I’ll just… keep asking. And all you have to say is ‘yes.’ That work?”</p><p><em> Yes. </em>I can say that. I think I can. I nod.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, because it’s made Simon hesitant and awkward. And probably even more likely to not say anything.</p><p>I don’t want to force him to do anything he finds uncomfortable, but it’s getting increasingly harder to listen to the tiny, minute changes in his breath to figure out if I’m doing something right or wrong. I wish he’d just let go… </p><p>After everything happened, I tried to act the part of the confident one, but I’m just as new to this as he is. (Even newer—at least he’d kissed someone before.) Not that I mind Simon being my first and hopefully my only. It would just be helpful if this wasn’t a guessing game.</p><p>Simon has a smattering of freckles on his shoulders that I love, so I start there. I kiss my way down to his elbow and listen to his breath. “How’s this? Yes?”</p><p>He clears his throat and nearly stiffens up, and I want to say to him: <em> Don’t be ashamed, don’t be self-conscious, stop holding back. You never held back before. It’s okay, it’s just me. </em></p><p>But then he says, “Yes,” so quietly I almost don’t hear it, so I go back to what I was doing.</p><p>I could lose myself in these freckles. I cross over to his chest, nosing around the light tuft of hair that grows between his pectorals, and kiss his moles in a circle. Connect-the-dots. “Yes?” I say.</p><p>“...Yes.”</p><p>I look up at his face. He’s smiling. </p><p>Okay, then.</p><p>“On your back,” I say as I push him over playfully. He grins lazily at me and rolls over, and the warm emotions that run through me tell me it’s going to be okay. We’re still practising, we’re both inexperienced; we’ll learn together. We’ll be okay. For some reason I think I might cry.</p><p>Simon spreads his wings out beneath him across the bed, and he looks like an angel.</p><p>He’s my Snow, and I’ve never wanted him more badly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>I thought Baz couldn’t get any sexier, but I was wrong. I’ve been wrong several times tonight, actually. I thought he was right fit in a suit, but then I took his shirt off and I was proved completely wrong. And I thought he was hot laying on his side like that, but that’s nothing compared to now…</p><p>Baz is straddling my waist with his footballer thighs, settling himself on top of me, bracing his elbows on either side of my shoulders. He’s wearing <em> jeans, </em>and it’s practically pornographic. I think I’m salivating. I’m not even a vampire, and I want to take a bite—is this how he feels all the time?</p><p>“This okay?” he says.</p><p>Fuck. I really do wish he could just read my thoughts. I wish there was a sexier way to say “Yes”—I’m sure there is—but I have no clue what it could be. So I just say it normally.</p><p>He drops his chest onto mine and I meet him halfway, kissing his mouth frantically, energetically. His legs fall to either side of mine, and I buck my hips involuntarily, prompting a low groan from Baz. I feel the vibration run through my mouth. I like the sound of it, so I do it again, purposefully this time. </p><p>
  <em> “Simon.” </em>
</p><p>It sounds like a prayer in his mouth; like music. I didn’t know my name could sound like that. </p><p>I should say something—he should know that this feels good for me, too—but I don’t know what I could say. I mouth the words silently, imagining saying them out loud, and it feels awkward and wrong. I know I’m thinking about this too hard, but I can’t just… let go. I can’t lose control.</p><p>I used to be scared of losing control—of <em> going off— </em>because it would hurt people. Now I don’t want to lose control because… because there’s no control to lose. Because I used to be a pressure cooker over high heat, and now someone’s taken the lid off. There’s no steam to build up, because everything seems to dissipate as soon as it begins. </p><p>Baz pulls back for a split second. He’s as flushed as he ever gets, which is to say lightly pink, and his grin is nearly feral. He shifts on my lap, and I gasp at the friction. (His knowing smile tells me he knew exactly what he was doing there.) “Alright?” he asks.</p><p>He’s so earnest, and it makes me feel kind of like shit that he has to keep asking because I can’t let go of my stupid hang-ups. I can’t turn my thoughts off anymore, and they all amount to self-consciousness, to some form of <em> not good enough. </em>And I feel like every time I say “yes” in my decidedly un-sexy voice, it ruins the mood.</p><p>Well, fuck it all. If I can’t make any sounds, I’ll at least show him with my body.</p><p>I wiggle my hips one more time, just to watch him close his eyes and bite his lip—fuck, that’s hot—and then I curl my wings up around him and flip us over roughly. I want to <em> touch </em> him: anywhere, everywhere. </p><p>And since he’s apparently Mr. Uninhibited, maybe I’ll give myself a little challenge and see how loud he <em> really </em> gets when no one’s home. </p><p>I grind down roughly at the spot where our hips meet, and as Baz says, “fucking Merlin and Morgana,” an involuntary <em> growl </em> escapes me. (And that feels okay… I used to growl all the time. When we’d fight, and the first time we kissed. That feels fine.) The corner of his mouth quirks up as his hands slide along my waist, and he says, “Crowley, Simon, that was <em> hot.”  </em></p><p>I catch his lips between my teeth, then attack his collarbone, kissing and nibbling. Baz’s chest is covered in a dusting of dark hair, and I kiss my way through, mapping every inch. I feel a little more confident now; if something feels good, it’s bound to get a reaction from him.</p><p>I’m rewarded when I run my tongue over one of his nipples. “Aleister fucking <em> Crowley– </em> ” His back arches up slightly from the mattress, and I slam my hand down on his opposite hip, pinning him to the bed. “Fuck, <em> ah– </em>”</p><p>I bite lightly, experimenting, and he moans louder, his hip twitching under my hand. I suck slightly, and he rakes a hand up my back, scratching. <em> Oh. </em>I growl again, pushing my chin into his chest, and Baz moves his hips up again. My breath catches at the point where we meet.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>Simon’s growling, and the sound itself is enough to drive me to the edge far sooner than I’d like to get there. He seems to like the constant reassurance, so I keep giving it to him—“that’s good” and “don’t stop” and <em> “yes, more.” </em> I have no qualms about saying it out loud. I’d shout it from the rooftops if he needed me to. If that’s what would get him to keep going the way he is.</p><p>He’s toying with my nipple with one hand and sucking at the other, and it’s sending shocks straight down my body. His hips are flush with mine, his strong hand holding me tight to the mattress, and he lets out a sexy little gasp every time I twitch up against him. </p><p>I’ve scratched at his back hard enough to draw parallel streaks of reddened skin, but he’s not complaining.</p><p>He bites again, bearing down with his entire body at the same time, prompting my loudest moan yet. “Fuck, <em> Simon, yes,” </em>I gasp out. My entire body feels coiled like a spring, like I’m going to burn up, like I’m shivering… and he’s still teasing me, still running his tongue along my chest, not letting me move–</p><p>He’s hard against me, and my body reacts to the sensation. This is the first time I’ve felt that—felt <em> Simon </em> like that—and it’s overwhelming. It’s such a tangible symbol of his <em> desire… </em>it’s a reminder that he wants this, too. When he shifts, arousal shoots straight down to my cock.</p><p>I can’t take it anymore.</p><p>I urge Simon to pull his chest to mine, then grasp his hips in both hands. Our lips crash together, again, <em> finally, </em> and it intensifies every sensation in my body tenfold. My fingers dig into his (perfect, perfect) arse. And Merlin, I want to <em> move, </em> I want to rock my hips up into his until we both can’t <em> breathe, </em>but–</p><p>But he’s gone frozen again, and silent. And I’ve forgotten to <em>ask</em> in my distraction. I gently cup his chin in my hands as he lifts his head.</p><p>“Simon?” I whisper, suddenly nervous I’ve crossed a line. “Is this alright?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says timidly, and then, more determined, <em> “Yes. </em> Don’t–” His eyebrows pull together even as he smooths over the crease between my own. “Don’t look so worried.”</p><p>“I’m worried because I don’t <em> know–” </em></p><p>“I know,” he interrupts, looking increasingly more upset. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>The last thing I want is for Simon to be distraught. We were doing well, I thought. I take another calming breath; I can feel our cocks throbbing between us, and it’s tremendously distracting. </p><p>His chest is still rising and falling rapidly. His lips are plump from all the activity; a flush rises high in his cheeks. </p><p>“Don’t apologise,” I say. “I’m the one who didn’t ask.”</p><p>I wish we didn’t have to talk about this; that there was some way to magickally know what the other wanted. But this is real life, not a film, not a fantasy. And magic, unfortunately, doesn’t have a solution for the awkwardness of first-time sexual encounters. That’s something we still have to figure out on our own.</p><p>“But that’s the thing!” he groans. “You shouldn’t <em> have </em> to keep checking in every five seconds. I feel so…”</p><p>“So?” </p><p>Simon’s less than an inch away from my face, and he leans down and brushes his lips against mine softly. It’s exceedingly soft and tender, a contrast from just a minute ago. I feel him breathe out against my cheek.</p><p>He rolls off me with a sigh a moment later, onto his back, flaring his wings out. One nudges its way under my body, and I lift myself up, then turn onto my side so I can look at him.</p><p>“So what?” I prompt.</p><p>His gaze is fixed on the ceiling. “Like I should be able to say something. Like I’m… I’m…”</p><p>
  <em> Broken.  </em>
</p><p>I know that’s what he’s going to say. Because that’s how he thinks about himself nowadays. And I know, I <em> know </em> it’s not my job to fix him. That it’s something that has to come from inside. I can’t exactly help with the fact that he’s an ex-magical dragon boy with a suitcase full of trauma.</p><p>But I <em> can </em> help with the sex bit. That part, at least, is my exact job.</p><p>I reach for his hand. “Everyone shows their pleasure in different ways.”</p><p>“I’m sick of being different!” he bursts out. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I just… This is one thing that I’m actually somewhat sure of.”</p><p>“You… you are?”</p><p>He finally looks at me, rolling slightly this way, and I can <em> hear </em> his heartbeats speed up. “Yeah. This…” He gestures awkwardly between us. “...is something I want. Have wanted, for a while.”</p><p>My breath catches at that. Hearing it out loud like that, from Simon… for a while, it’s something I never thought I would ever hear at all. The admission somehow feels more intimate than anything else we’ve done. </p><p>“Same here,” I say softly. I must have a stupid smile on my face, because he leans forward with a grin and kisses me again.</p><p>“But.” Simon presses the heels of his palms to his eye sockets.</p><p>“But what?”</p><p>“I feel like something’s wrong with me…”</p><p>I pull one of his hands away and grasp it in both of my own. “Simon, love. Nothing is wrong with you. Nothing, you hear?”</p><p>“You’re just–”</p><p>“I’m <em> not </em> just saying that.”</p><p>“–saying that.” </p><p>I stare him down. “I’m <em> not.” </em></p><p>“It’s not fair to you–”</p><p>I’ve gotten his other hand as well, and I squeeze them tightly. “Nonsense,” I say firmly, without magic. He still looks apprehensive, and I blow out a breath. </p><p>I want him to know that he’s perfect. To me, to everyone who loves him. That the world has beaten him down, but here, with me, he doesn’t have to feel that way. Even if he’s not confident, I can at least make him feel secure and loved. This space with us together, with barely a breath’s distance between us… it’s safe. It’s sacred. It should be free of judgements and worries. But how to make him <em> see </em>that?</p><p>“Simon,” I say. His eyes are big and blue and concerned—almost fearful—and I want that look to disappear. </p><p>I want Simon to let himself feel pleasure and believe that he deserves it. I don’t want him to believe that anything he’s doing, any way he’s reacting, isn’t <em> enough </em>for me, because it is. It is.</p><p>“It’s not about fairness.” I start with something straightforward, something he will believe. “What I said earlier, with the sounds. That was about encouragement. Enthusiastic consent, too.”</p><p>He groans. “Fuck, Baz, I haven’t been asking <em> you </em> – <em> ” </em></p><p>“I’ve made it clear enough,” I smirk.</p><p>“That’s the thing! You– I mean, it seems so easy for you. Makes me feel like…” he trails off. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Do you like it?” I prompt. </p><p>Simon nods. “It’s right sexy,” he says, then makes a face, biting his lip like he hadn’t meant to say that.</p><p>I nudge forward and kiss his nose. “Good,” I say. “And thank you. But. It doesn’t come naturally to everyone. It can come with practise, though. Do you feel… self-conscious about it?” He nods again, confirming what I’d thought. “It’s okay. You don’t have to make any noises.”</p><p>“But earlier, you said…” he trails off.</p><p>“There aren’t <em> rules,” </em> I insist. “Not here. It’s just us. It’s what we’re comfortable with. Not what we think we <em> should </em>do, just what we want to.”</p><p>“You <em> said </em> – <em> ” </em></p><p>I shouldn’t have said anything. </p><p>But we need to have this conversation. Simon needs to hear this. </p><p>“I said it because I thought it would feel good, for you,” I say. “It…” I hesitate, unsure how to explain this. “For me, at least, it makes me feel more relaxed. Like I have an outlet.”</p><p>“I don’t need an outlet,” Simon says quietly. He’s fixed his sights back on the ceiling. “Not anymore.”</p><p>He’s not talking about sex. Not just.</p><p>I can’t stand the thought of Simon closing off now, not when we’re so close to figuring out… something. I’m still holding his hand, and I wind our fingers together carefully, trying to tug him back to the present. “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. If that’s not what comes naturally to you, there’s nothing wrong with that.”</p><p>“I know,” he sighs, “just… you’re so–” He stops. “I just… I want to… just– agh.” </p><p>I set a hand on his chest, on his heartbeat. <em> Take your time. </em></p><p>Simon takes a couple breaths in, out. “It’s hot when you do it,” he finally says. “It’s… encouraging, like you said.” I’m about to respond, but he speaks again. “I want you to feel the same. Feel bad that I can’t… give you that.”</p><p>Of course I didn’t intend to make him feel bad, but I think it’s a basic desire—to want Simon to react, to want him moaning and whimpering under my touch. I don’t tell him that. </p><p>“I don’t expect it of you,” I tell him. “Don’t let the media fool you into believing everyone moans like a porn star.”</p><p>
  <em> “You–” </em>
</p><p>“Don’t fucking say it.”</p><p>Simon laughs, and the moment seems to solidify into something less fragile.</p><p>“We worked out something else,” I say. “You were okay with that, right?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It was awkward,” he admits. “I felt like you were teaching me or something. Like you were… in charge, I guess?”</p><p>The statement sends a rush of heat through me, and I clear my throat. My voice still comes out a little croaky. “Would you prefer, um. The other way ‘round?”</p><p>I remember his turning point, how he seemed to come <em> alive </em> the moment he flipped us over. The moment he took charge, pinning my hips down—fucking <em> Crowley.  </em></p><p>Simon scoots closer, then turns himself easily onto all fours above me and leans close. “Yes,” he says, very deliberately, and a smile spreads across my face.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>I feel more confident this way. Less stressed about whether I’m doing something right or not. I won’t have to <em> react </em> as much. When Baz was making his way down my body, asking for my confirmation, it felt like nothing I did was right. This is a bit more familiar—something I <em> know </em> I can be good at.</p><p>Baz is spread out beneath me on the sheets, and he looks ethereal. His eyes are hazy with arousal, his torso tensed and well-muscled. I want to lick every inch of his body. (Would he let me?) My wings stretch out overhead, casting him in a red glow. (The tail is behaving today, for once; it’s wrapped neatly around one of my thighs.) He looks up at me, waiting.</p><p>He’s exceedingly patient with me and kinder than I deserve. I want to make him feel<em> good. </em> I could spend hours here, coaxing little moans and whimpers out of him—but what I suspect, the reason for this entire conversation about <em> sounds, </em>is that he won’t enjoy this unless I do, too. </p><p>I know that because I feel the same way about him. If I just wanted to get off, I could do it on my own. This is about Baz. It’s about what I can do to Baz—<em> with </em> Baz—something that’s uniquely <em> because of me. </em> Which is why it feels so good when he delivers that vocal encouragement. Because as far as I know, he doesn’t moan out <em> “Don’t stop, Simon” </em>when he’s having a wank. (Well, maybe he does. I don’t know. It’s beside the point.)</p><p>I wish I could give the same thing to him. </p><p>Maybe someday; he did say that it could come with practise. Maybe I could learn. But I picture myself echoing the sounds Baz makes, and I <em> can’t. </em>I might as well be trying to speak a language I don’t know.</p><p>I growled before, just a few minutes ago, but now that seems impossible again. I wish I could just stop thinking. I can’t anymore.</p><p>I carefully lower myself so our bodies are flush again, from feet to collarbones, my weight bearing down on him. I twine our fingers together again as our lips meet in a tender kiss. I can feel every inch of his body beneath mine, and I must press down further because he lets out a long, soft moan.</p><p>The kiss quickly becomes deeper and rougher. I guide Baz’s hands up to my hair and let him fist my curls as I swipe my tongue across his lower lip and into his mouth. I run my fingers down his bare skin; neck, shoulders, curving muscles of his arms. It prompts a round of shivers from him, a tiny sigh-hum.</p><p>I think about copying that sound—it’s so quiet, it would be easy—but my throat feels like it’s closed up.</p><p>I’m not sure where to go from here. Baz seemed to know what he was doing earlier, but had caught me by surprise. Now, it seems like he won’t do anything unless I initiate it first.</p><p>
  <em> If it feels good, I’ll tell him. Somehow. However. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If it doesn’t, I can tell him to stop.  </em>
</p><p>I’m overthinking this.</p><p>Overthinking is all I <em> do </em> nowadays.</p><p>I’m in control now. I don’t have to say anything. (Except to ask—but just for consent, not reassurance. I won’t have to coax verbal encouragement out of Baz every three seconds.)</p><p>I pull Baz’s hands from my hair and hesitantly guide them back downwards. I set them on the small of my back, then slide them to my arse. “What were you going to do, earlier?” I ask, breaking the kiss.</p><p>He grips my arse more firmly, and it feels <em> good </em>—I feel kind of sexy and protected all at once. “Can I show you?” he says, and my cock gives an involuntary twitch.</p><p>Baz is getting hard beneath me—I can actually feel it happening—and it’s a little shocking. Feels <em> good, </em>but also feels like another expectation. Which I know is stupid, but, well, knowing something’s stupid and being able to dismiss it are two different things, aren’t they?</p><p>Anyway, I try to concentrate on the most important part of being able to feel Baz’s growing erection against my own, which is that it’s <em> damn sexy. </em></p><p>“Okay,” I say, and let my lips fall against his once more.</p><p>A moment later, he starts to rock upwards against me. I can’t help the gasp that escapes me, especially as Baz gives a deep groan. His hands are strong, steady on my hips, and then he really starts to <em> move— </em>and he’s moving me along with him. Guiding me, setting the rhythm. </p><p>“Like this,” he says, “is this fine?”</p><p>
  <em> Yes, yes, yes on fucking loop– </em>
</p><p>I catch myself, make myself say it out loud instead of just in my head. </p><p>Baz pushes my hips up and tugs them roughly down, grinding against me, then easing up. Over and over again. There’s something incredibly arousing about him controlling my movements like this, even though he’s the one beneath me. He’s so <em> strong. </em>He’s pulling me towards him, our bodies crashing together each time, our movements becoming more frantic.</p><p>I’m burning up with all the <em> friction </em> and all the <em> movement— </em> it feels so dynamic, so natural. So <em> good. </em>And hot; there’s heat spreading its way across my whole body, pooling at my core. We’re both sweating, nearly stuck at all the points where we touch.</p><p><em> “Simon, </em>fuck,” he breathes. “So good–”</p><p>Could I do that—could I say his name? Would he like that? Judging by the way my heartbeat spikes every time he says <em> Simon, </em> I’d say the odds are good. Especially when he says it like <em> that— </em>all breathy and gaspy and like it’s the most important word in the world.</p><p>I wrap my head and my lips around his name, but no sound comes out. I imagine myself saying it, again and again. I say his name all the time. It can’t be all that different. Except it feels that way. </p><p>
  <em> Baz. </em>
</p><p>It feels like an entirely different word; like something vulnerable.</p><p>Our lips keep falling together as my hips rut down into Baz’s. He’s panting and whimpering and he’s <em> gorgeous </em> like this, eager like this for me. </p><p>
  <em> Baz.  </em>
</p><p>I lean down and my mouth finds his earlobe. I tug with my teeth, and I never really understood why people found this sexy except I <em> do </em> now—he’s shuddering softly, leaning up, moaning. Crowley, <em> moaning– </em></p><p>It’s making me shudder back in response. That combined with the pleasure building up in my cock as we grind together. I try to whimper, maybe, but my voice <em> stops </em> again and it just comes out as a rough breath through my nose.</p><p>
  <em> Baz. </em>
</p><p>I want <em> more– </em></p><p>I peel my chest away from his and brace myself on all fours, my wrists bracketing his shoulders. We’re both breathing heavily, and I watch his stomach rise and fall before letting my gaze travel lower. “Can I…” </p><p>Baz looks on as my hand grazes his abdomen, finally stilling at the button on his trousers. “Yes,” he says emphatically. “Are you sure?”</p><p>I nod and swallow. Most of the remnants of fear left in my body are swept away and replaced by anticipation and arousal when I undo Baz’s fly, inch his trousers down. I run my fingers over the V-shaped muscles on the insides of his hips. </p><p>I’ve seen Baz in shorts before. I’ve seen him in a swimsuit. It’s not that different.</p><p>(It’s very different.)</p><p>Before I lose my nerve, I roll up onto my knees and undo my own trousers. And then I do this awkward manoeuver where I have to stand up on the bed just to get them off. </p><p>“You’re a disaster, Snow,” Baz says, perfectly languid in his reclined position on the pillows. I make a face at him, and we both laugh. It cuts some of the tension from the moment.</p><p>His eyes are stuck on my thighs, and my eyes are stuck on his eyes, and it’s absolutely electrifying. I sink back down to my knees. I think this is the most naked I’ve ever been in front of him, but with the way he’s looking at me, it doesn’t feel scary, really. </p><p>It feels like I’m seen, and like I’m known, which I suppose is a little bit daunting. With all Baz has said today—I don’t know. What he said almost seemed to be contradictory. First it was <em> you should make sounds, </em> then it was all acceptance and feelings and <em> it’s okay if you don’t </em> and I just. I don’t know. </p><p>I do realise how helpful it would be for him. Despite the huge fucking air of bravado he puts on, he’s just as monumentally virginal as I am. Sure, he’s somehow been blessed with the confidence of a superhero, but that doesn’t automatically mean he knows what to <em> do. </em></p><p>I know he doesn’t mean it, but I <em> am </em> a disaster.</p><p>A quiet one, apparently. Who’d’ve thought.</p><p>“A beautiful one,” Baz says with a soft smile, and I lean down to cover his body with my own once again. My legs slot between his, his arms wind up under mine—it feels like finding another piece of the puzzle.</p><p>With only one layer between us, I grind down into him, relishing in the white-hot sensations that make their way up my body. Baz gives a long, soft moan at the contact, and I kiss him and resolve one thing: I’ll do it. I can do it. Even if it’s just one sound, or his name, or a swear word for all I care. Even if I have to deliver some sort of encouragement in a monotone. Even if I have to force it out and it feels awkward and weird.</p><p>Because. Because now that the pressure is building up at the point where we meet, I see what he meant about wanting an outlet. Because he’s doing so much for <em> me— </em>not that I think the sounds are only for my benefit, but they spur me on, and they’re dead sexy.</p><p>Because this is Baz’s first time, too, and I want him to know I’m enjoying it. With him. <em> Because </em>of him. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>Snow is good at this, and with every sound he wrenches out of me, his confidence seems to grow. I don’t mind; I like him like <em> this— </em>pinning me down, fucking against me through my pants, letting his hands roam over my torso. It’s a bit of the old Simon back. Quick reflexes. No hesitance.</p><p>He lifts his hips up just long enough to hook a finger in my waistband. Rolling slightly off, panting, he asks, “This okay?”</p><p>My hips give an involuntary twitch at his movement. He shifts his hand so that he’s palming my cock through my pants, and I have to bite my lip to suppress a moan. It comes out as a choked sort of whimper. His touch is soft yet firm, and I want nothing more than for this fabric to disappear. “Yes, <em>yes, </em>Simon–”</p><p>He gets this determined look on his face and licks his lips, prompting me to take another steadying breath. And then his gaze zeroes in on my crotch as he pulls my pants off in one smooth motion. My prick springs free, and Simon stares at it and <em> swallows </em> and I’m just imagining his lips on it–</p><p>And then they are.</p><p>Well, close. (Not close <em> enough.) </em></p><p>Simon Snow’s got his mouth on my stomach, and he’s kissing down the centre of my abdomen, and I might combust. Every time his lips touch my skin it feels like my nerves are sparking up to meet them. He’s sending shivers through my body. </p><p>I don’t know what to do with my hands. He seems to sense this; he picks them up and puts them in his hair, and it’s such a sweet gesture that betrays the layers of familiarity between us. </p><p>He sucks gently above my hipbone, and something like a sob escapes me. The heat of his throat is hovering over my pulsing cock, and the anticipation might actually kill me. </p><p>“You like that?” he whispers. I give a long hum in response, tug his hair—well, push it really—further down. His eyes flick up, and our eye contact <em> sears </em> through my whole body, the sight of Simon blinking up at me from around my hips increasing every sensation building up inside of me.</p><p>He quirks a nervous grin at me, then I just see the top of his head. Hot, moist breath ghosts over my cock, and I moan again. “Ready?” he asks. He seems to be asking me as much as he’s asking himself.</p><p>
  <em> “Please.” </em>
</p><p>Simon presses a hard kiss to my hipbone, and then his fingers tighten on the sides of my thighs as he takes me into his mouth. A little clumsily, but he’s sinking lower, and it’s hot and wet and <em> overwhelming </em>and–</p><p><em> “Mmn, </em> fuck, that’s– Simon, <em> ahh–” </em></p><p>Suddenly he pulls off and coughs a little. His mess of golden curls shakes. “Good, then?”</p><p>He runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he slowly lifts his head, and my brain feels like it’s going to short out. </p><p>"Better than good,” I tell him. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’ve got no idea what I’m doing, honestly.”</p><p>“Feels right.”</p><p>“‘M trying not to use my teeth,” he says. He rests his cheek in the hollow of my hip, and it’s such a comfortable, familiar motion that I feel a tug in my chest. “Gonna go again…” He lifts up, presses a kiss to the head of my cock, and I gasp. “And try something,” he mutters.</p><p>I don’t have time to worry about what he means because I’m too bloody distracted by the sight of his perfect lips wrapping around me once again, his eyebrows creasing as he takes more, bit by bit. He brings one hand up to circle the base, and, <em> oh. </em></p><p>“So good,” I breathe. The praise falls from my mouth easily; everything is smooth and tight and <em> Simon, </em>and I want to sink into this feeling. </p><p>I bite my own lip and fist his hair, making sure not to pull towards me. He gives me another strong stroke at the base of my cock. His breath nears my pelvis, and then he <em> stops </em> and I can feel that I’ve hit the back of his throat. (Barely any gag reflex—I’m a lucky bastard.) I feel almost dizzy, and when I close my eyes, I think I’m seeing stars. “Crowley, Simon, you’re so good, so hot–” </p><p>He suddenly runs the flat of his tongue up the underside of my cock, and I give an involuntary <em> yank </em> of his hair in time with a spasm of my hips, and that’s when he fucking <em> growls. </em></p><p>It’s more of a growl-groan-hum, honestly, and the vibration of it deep in his throat feels <em> amazing </em> against me—around me. I’m shocked enough to open my eyes, only to find him looking up at me. “Simon, you– that was–”</p><p>His eyes crinkle into a smile and he hums his assent. I feel it in every inch of my body, down to the base of my spine. It’s threatening to overtake me, this sight of Simon, his blue eyes boring into me, his mouth wrapped around my prick, his goddamn sexy <em> growl. </em></p><p>But then he starts to <em> move, </em>and it’s officially too much. I tip my head back.</p><p>Merlin and fucking Morgana, Simon Snow is going to be the death of me after all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>The last thing I expected to help me get my confidence back was sucking cock, but here we are.</p><p>It’s easier when I have my mouth full, I suppose—I don’t have to say any words. (I’ve always been shit with words, anyway.) And he’s so <em> responsive </em> when I hum like this. I could be reciting my grocery list, for all he knows. (I’m not. But I <em> could.) </em> </p><p>I pull up, almost to the tip, then sink back down. It’s a little uncomfortable and brings a couple tears to my eyes, but it’s not bad. I try to relax and let my tongue explore around. The movement prompts a string of curses from Baz and a scratching at my scalp, and I hum again. </p><p>He makes a soft noise and thumbs the spot behind my ear. “That’s it, love, <em> yes, </em>don’t stop…”</p><p>I move one hand from where it’s clutching his hipbone up to his stomach, stroking gently. He’s tense, his core muscles trembling…</p><p>I can’t figure out why until I lick a stripe up Baz’s cock again, then swirl gently around the head. He cries out but goes stiff, pushing his backside into the mattress.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>He’s trying not to thrust up into my mouth.</p><p>“Baz,” I try to say, but it comes out muffled. I pull off with a wet pop. “Baz,” I pant against his thigh. I swallow and wipe my mouth off with the back of my hand. I breathe in the scent of him—cedar soap and musk and precome. “You can–” I slide my hands up to the arched small of his back. “You can move.”</p><p>“Move?”</p><p>“You know.” I slip my hands further down to cup his arse. (It’s cold—colder than the rest of him, even.)</p><p>“Are you sure?” I nod. “Okay, just… stop me if it’s too much.”</p><p>I roll my eyes. <em> Baz. </em>Pushed me down a flight of stairs without a second thought, but is concerned about hurting me now—when it’s something I actually want to do. (Unlike tumbling down the stairs.) I take a deep breath like I’m preparing to jump off a ledge, then release it, trying to relax my throat. </p><p>When I suck the tip of his cock into my mouth, Baz’s hand moves to softly stroke the curls off my forehead as he practically whines with need. <em> “Ah, </em> fuck… Simon, <em> mmn, </em>you’re so good…” </p><p>I shift angles and take him as deep as I can go, and then, spurred on by Baz’s encouragement, swallow futilely and move even further down. </p><p>I glance upwards, and he’s already looking right at me. And the look on his face—he’s completely taken apart, contorted with need, nearly flushed. He looks beautiful and open and the idea that <em> I </em>can put this expression on Baz Pitch’s face is enough to make me groan again around his cock.</p><p>He’s already trembling, fisting the sheets with one hand and my hair with the other. I dig two fingers into the dimples in the small of his back, right above his arse, and urge his hips towards me.</p><p>“Sure?” he gasps out. I nod. </p><p>I can’t believe how good it feels to make <em> Baz </em> feel good. It’s like he’s an extension of me, which shouldn’t make sense but it <em> does </em>—every tremor and moan of pleasure go straight to my own cock, make me feel like I’m the one who’s getting off.</p><p>He starts to move the slightest bit, his hands still grounded in the sheets. I grasp any bit of skin I can get and shove him closer, closer– </p><p>The moment he hits the back of my throat, I sputter a little and he pulls away in a panic. “Fuck, are you–”</p><p>“I’m <em> fine,” </em>I say. “Just– I’ll tell you if it’s not okay, yeah?”</p><p>“You won’t be able to<em> tell </em>me,” he says.</p><p>I huff, remembering how I growled earlier. It didn’t feel natural, exactly, but it felt easier. “I’ll tell you if it’s <em> okay, </em> too.”</p><p>He seems to catch my drift and grins. “Those sounds you made earlier…”</p><p>I feel suddenly shy again, and I force myself not to look away. </p><p>Baz’s finger dances along my cheekbone. “It was fucking sexy, Simon.” </p><p>I swallow him down again without any further ceremony. Mostly to keep myself from beaming like a lovesick idiot. I allow myself a moment to adjust to the feeling, loosening my jaw—and then I pull Baz towards me again. <em> Come on. </em> I flick my tongue up to stimulate his frenulum, and his hips twitch. <em> There you go. </em></p><p>He arches his back, his mouth opening in a gasp, and gives the smallest <em> thrust. </em> Pleasure is scrawled plainly across his face, and I urge him to buck his hips again. “Fucking– yes, <em> yes–” </em></p><p>My world narrows to this point: Baz’s expression as he thrusts into my mouth, again and again, the way I can feel his cock sliding across my tongue. He’s filling all of my senses, his scent and his sounds coating the room.</p><p>I can feel my own arousal building quickly, and with his every motion, I’m rutting my own hips into the bedsheets. His motions are shallow and quick, and he’s nearly babbling as he fucks my mouth. “Simon, <em> yes, </em>fuck– Crowley, that’s it–”</p><p>Each stroke of his prompts a new sound from me, almost (not quite) involuntary. The effect is astounding—with each one of my groans or growls, his cock literally throbs.</p><p>So I keep doing it, and I don’t have to force it as much, and we’ve finally found a rhythm to rock together smoothly, and it’s <em> good.  </em></p><p>Baz is panting hard, his eyes squeezed shut. Is he still holding back? </p><p>I think I’ll be fine. I don’t know. I think I can take it. His fingers are still fisted tightly around the sheets, so I reach up and gently unwind them. And then I bring one of his hands to the back of my head.</p><p>An involuntary thrill runs through me. </p><p>Baz’s eyes pop open. “What–”</p><p>I don’t bother to pull off—it’ll be cold, for him—I just clutch his hand there with mine until he hesitantly slides his fingers up and tangles them up in my hair. I hold his eyes for a moment. Baz shakes his head and gives a weak laugh. His voice cracks a little when he speaks. “Simon Snow, you sexy moron, you’re trying to kill me.”</p><p>I can feel myself blushing. I turn my attention back to his cock and start to move up and down again. Baz’s hand is heavy on the back of my head, but he’s not pushing yet. “Little, <em> ah–” </em>he gasps out, “little deaths.” I don’t get the reference (is it a reference?) but he seems to find himself amusing. </p><p>“You’re beautiful, Snow,” he near-whispers. “Fucking perfect.”</p><p>I reach up to find his free hand and wind our fingers together. And then it does feel perfect. Complete. </p><p>He starts to set a rhythm, slow and deliberate. His thrusts are fuller, deeper. He’s pushing and tugging at my hair, controlling my movements like before, and I know for certain I’ve never been more turned on. I’m driven to distraction by <em> this, </em>but my own cock is aching beneath me, so I grind my body down on autopilot in time to his motions.</p><p>I’m trying to think of new things to do—I’m trying to do what would feel good on me. I purse my lips, hollow my cheeks, and try to <em>suck. </em>Baz cries out and pushes my head down as he thrusts again. “Simon, <em>oh–</em> <em>mmn–”</em></p><p>There’s just something right about this. Something that makes it easy, when praise for my ministrations are flowing from Baz’s lips, and every jerk of his cock wrenches a grunt out of my own mouth. He’s clinging to my hand, distractedly rubbing circles around my thumb. He’s moaning my name like it’s a spell (well, maybe not; his elocution’s shit right now) and I think I could come from that sound alone.</p><p>Baz arches his back, rocking up into me again and again, and I swear I can <em> feel </em> his orgasm building in my mouth. His cock grows infinitesimally, everything tightening, throbbing. He’s shaking, yanking on my hair painfully, and everything intensifies. It feels like <em> enough, </em> almost—closer to it, anyway. I want to be surrounded by Baz. I want every molecule in my body to sing his name.</p><p><em> “Fuck, </em>Simon, you feel amazing…” he says. Back arched, head tipped back. “Yes, yes–” he pants.</p><p>A moment later his hands go still on my head and he lets out a strained noise. “I’m close…”</p><p>I don’t let up, just start moving of my own accord at a steady rhythm. Baz keeps talking, shaking, gasping. I don’t really know what I’m doing or where I’m going with this. All I know is that I don’t want to <em> stop. </em>Baz draws in a shaking breath. “Wait–” he says. </p><p>I reluctantly allow myself to be pulled off his cock by my hair. He hooks his hands under my arms and hauls me up to the pillows. I barely have time to swallow and wipe my mouth off before he’s rolling on top of me, capturing me in a full-bodied kiss. His body’s <em> warm, </em> for once, and his every touch spurs a round of shivers.</p><p>…Why the <em> fuck </em> are my pants still on?</p><p>Baz seems to have the same thought, because he nearly growls as he roughly yanks them down. His hand wraps around my cock, and I let out a sigh of relief. I won’t last long–</p><p>My hand moves forward to stroke Baz’s cock, and Baz moves forward to crush our mouths together, and it’s <em> perfect. </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>Simon’s relentless, and he’s breathing so hard that we’re barely kissing at this point, just pushing our mouths together. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire as he keeps up a steady rhythm stroking my cock. I feel almost dizzy; what little blood I have in my body is definitely concentrated down there.</p><p>But I’m somehow still jerking Simon off, a little clumsier than I’d like. He’s just as hard as me, his cock pretty and flushed, precome beading deliciously at the tip. He keeps letting out these tiny, monosyllabic noises, so quietly I might not have been able to hear them if I wasn’t a vampire.</p><p>He’s still holding back, he’s still self-conscious, but he’s <em> trying, </em>and I love him for that.</p><p>The pressure is building in my cock, and Simon doesn’t let up. Just watches me through hazy eyes as I smush my cheek to the pillow. His other hand comes up to cup my cheek. “‘M close,” I say again.</p><p>“I know,” he says, and squeezes tighter. I draw in a gasping, unsteady breath and it comes out as a dry sob. He nudges his face into the crook of my neck, breathing raggedly, drawing goosebumps from my skin. “You first,” he says, and pulls my hand off his cock—it’s not like I was doing a good job, anyway—bringing it to his hipbone. I clutch on for dear life, almost sure I’ll leave a mark.</p><p>“I– <em> ahh.” </em> I bite my lip as he increases his speed and pressure. “Simon, fuck, <em> fuck, </em> you’re so good– so good, <em> please–” </em></p><p>“Please what?” he murmurs.</p><p>“Just– <em> mmn… </em>just– more,” I plead.</p><p>I feel rather than hear Simon’s low, rumbling groan as he moves closer, somehow. Enveloping me in his heat until my whole world is Simon Snow. And then he’s kissing me, and everything <em> bursts. </em> My hips stutter, losing rhythm, and I’m moaning his name against his mouth, and Simon is stroking me steadily through orgasm like he does this every fucking day.</p><p>It’s overwhelming. Every muscle in my body feels like a live wire, fraught with tension, and it’s almost too much. <em> Too much– </em></p><p>And then he lets up. I’m coming down, and I open my eyes to Simon watching me with an expression so tender I feel as though I might cry. He reaches for my hand again as I catch my breath, and it grounds me. I meet his eyes; they’re dark with lust, his pupils so dilated that the blue only forms a thin ring around them. “Good?” he asks nervously.</p><p>Simon Snow just gave me the best orgasm of my life and he’s asking if it was <em> good. </em></p><p>“Fucking brilliant,” I tell him, and I wrench him toward me by the back of his neck.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>I take back my earlier statement. Baz is sexiest, without a doubt, like <em> this: </em>on the brink of orgasm, a rare flush rising high in his cheeks, his face buried in my palm, his hair messily spread out across the pillow. My name falling from his lips. His voice shattering as he slips over the edge…</p><p>Baz is stroking me insistently, deliberately, and I’m coming apart.</p><p>I think I get it now, with the sounds. Baz said whatever was natural, whatever was comfortable. He’s getting me to groan now (must be quite the ego boost for him), and though it’s still awkward, it makes sense. </p><p>It’s like currency, like saying all the things I want to say—<em> good </em> and <em> yes </em> and <em> keep going— </em>but without actually having to say them.</p><p>And he’s right, everyone is different. Baz, never one to be shy, says them out loud. I think he’s just tired of hiding who he is and how he feels. It sets off a warm burst inside me, the idea that he can let down all those walls around me. </p><p>And I… I don’t know. I really never have been good with words. Even though I know he finds the sounds sexy, I can’t help but still feel weird. Maybe I’m just not used to hearing my own voice; any noises of unguarded pleasure sound foreign and off-key. </p><p>But I’m trying. For Baz. For <em> us. </em>And I know he’s willing to accept whatever I can give him, even if it’s not much. Even if it’s so quiet even I can barely hear it. (He’s got vampire hearing—he can hear it, right?)</p><p>He’s pressing hard kisses to my jaw as he continues stroking my cock. I’m shuddering all over, heat building up, swirling through my body. If I still had magic, it’d be everywhere by now, leaking out my pores—hell, if I still had magic, I’d be <em> going off </em> right now. Or in a minute–</p><p>“That’s it, love,” he says next to my ear. “Come on.” It’s almost painful at this point, and I desperately thrust up into his hand. His fingers dig into my side, slipping against my ribcage, and every touch sends another jolt to the base of my spine.</p><p>He grasps a little tighter, and I <em> gasp </em> and then I only give myself a split-second to think about it before I say, “Baz…”</p><p>And his hand comes to a halt. </p><p>“Yeah?” he asks.</p><p>My eyes pop open. </p><p>“I– what?” I say. “Why’d you stop?”</p><p>Baz looks as stunned as I feel. “Because… well, it sounded like…” I watch it dawn on him, and his expression turns mildly horrified. <em> “Oh. </em> Oh, <em> Merlin.” </em></p><p>“Like?” I prompt.</p><p>Like… wrong. Like not the right tone. Like it was a question or a complaint, rather than however Baz is able to say <em> my </em> name in that particular way…</p><p>He grimaces and looks down, and it comes out weakly. “Like… you wanted to… ask… me… something?” He cringes at himself. “That wasn’t it at all, was it.”</p><p>“No,” I groan. I’ve never been so mortified in my life. (I’ve never lost an erection so quickly.) I roll away from him onto my side, burying my face in my hands.</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck.” </em>
</p><p>I nod my agreement. I don’t think I can actually face him right now. My entire body’s burning, but in a much different way than before. I want to dive under the covers and hide for the next several days.</p><p>“I–”</p><p>“Don’t,” I mutter.</p><p>
  <em> “Simon.” </em>
</p><p>“Agh,” I tell my pillow.</p><p>I heave a few deep breaths into the pillow and try to clear my mind, but the moment’s settling heavy on me, searing into me. Baz is silent for a minute or two, then reaches out to touch my back—so gently, like he’s scared I’ll flinch away. I don’t, and he sighs and starts to scratch at that spot behind my wings he knows I like. </p><p>After a moment, he moves closer and entangles our legs, looping an arm around my waist. “I’m sorry,” he says. He huffs an embarrassed sort of laugh. “Really. After all that, I can’t believe I… Just, I’m sorry.”</p><p>If we were a normal couple, we’d probably be able to laugh about this. It <em> is </em> funny, in a way.</p><p>But that’s a moot point. Nothing about Baz and me has ever been <em>normal… </em></p><p>“‘S my fault,” I say.</p><p>“Simon, <em> no,” </em>he says. He tries to tug me onto my back again, but I resist. </p><p>I shake my head. “I’m just… shit at this. Not like you…”</p><p>His arm tightens around me. “No,” he says again. “You’re <em> not. </em> And if you were like <em> me, </em> I don’t think I’d be able to stand you…”</p><p>I don’t laugh at his joke.</p><p>“You’re amazing at this,” he continues in a low voice, inching closer. “Better than. You’re perfect.”</p><p>I’m <em> not. </em></p><p>I shake my head again. I can sense his frustration, but what would I say? <em> I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up. I don’t know why I expected to be able to do this right when I can’t get anything </em> else <em> right… </em></p><p>Baz tugs at my shoulder again, but I roll in the opposite direction, onto my stomach. He sighs again, and I feel bad, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I never know what to say.</p><p>“Simon, love,” he says quietly. He starts to rub soothing circles into my back, which I probably don’t deserve, but whatever. “It was my mistake, really. You tried, for <em> me… </em> and I just made you self-conscious all over again. I’m sorry.”</p><p>I let out a deep breath, then lift up onto my side so I’m halfway facing him. I wrap my right wing around his body and draw him into the cocoon. It feels a little safer in here, almost like a shield from my own thoughts.</p><p>When I finally lift my head, Baz’s face is inches from mine, shaded in red. </p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>I shrug.</p><p>“There’s no such thing as being <em> bad </em> at it,” he says. “At any of this.” </p><p>Baz’s eyes are full and grey and serious. </p><p>“You don’t believe me,” he says.</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“Simon Snow,” he says in that particular way of his. A little sigh, a little smile. “Luckily for you, the person making the judgement calls on that particular talent of yours is <em> me.” </em></p><p>I attempt a smile, but it won’t come to the surface. </p><p>Baz strokes my cheek with his thumb. “And I say,” he says in a low, dangerous voice, “that you’re the very best. You still make me feel like I’m crashing into the sun. I still think your touch could set me on fire.” He pauses, then clarifies, “In a good way. If that’s possible for a vampire.”</p><p>That gets my smile out, just a bit.</p><p>“Everything you do is perfect to me,” he says.</p><p>Everything <em> Baz </em> does is perfect.</p><p>“There’s no wrong way,” he says.</p><p>He shifts forward until our foreheads meet. I close my eyes.</p><p>“No matter how awkward. No matter what sounds <em> either </em> of us make, or don’t make…”</p><p>I groan in embarrassment, and he laughs.</p><p>“Simon, look at me.” I open my eyes, and he pulls back slightly until his face comes into focus. “We’re figuring this out together. We’re going to make mistakes. But we’ll make it through.”</p><p>He says it with such conviction that I almost <em> have </em> to believe him.</p><p>So I swallow. And I nod. And I say, “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>I nod again. “It’s– it’s not easy for me.” <em> That’s an understatement. </em> “But I guess I get what you’re saying. And it… it…”</p><p>“It?”</p><p>“It feels <em> right,” </em>I say. It comes out hoarse, and I clear my throat. “Feels right with you.”</p><p>That part’s true. It’s one of the only true things I have left.</p><p>Baz’s grin reaches his eyes this time, and he leans in to kiss me. I meet him halfway.</p><p>“Want to pick up where we left off?” he whispers.</p><p>I almost snort. I don’t think the mood could be <em> more </em>broken. “Maybe later.”</p><p>“Want to cuddle?”</p><p>“Yeah.” I kiss Baz deeper, and he moans softly, and I don’t, and that’s <em> okay. </em>“Yeah, I’d like that.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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